Forever His
by Lahlar
Summary: Drabble, One-Shot. Rachel was his; what was so hard to understand about that?


**This was inspired by something Eva Pope said in her interview about Philip being a psycho, and after a lecture, I felt compelled to write it, but it's rather disturbing. (Well, duh, it's me lol)**

**Hope you enjoy reading it.**

When his Mum had gone, she was there.

She was there to hold him in her arms, to comfort him, to tell him everything would be all right. With her reassuring, comforting voice, and her lovely warm embrace, she was everything he had missed and everything he wanted. She was his, there forever, and nothing could take her away.

Sometimes Mum would send a postcard. Sometimes she would send him a little something from wherever it was she had fled too. They made him upset, made tears drip uncertainly from his eyes, tears he didn't want anyone to see because they made him weak and that was why she had left; he was too weak to defend her.

She, however, made it all better. She wiped away his tears, held him close, told him that everything would be okay. And he believed her.

But it wasn't. Eddie was there, Eddie who had screwed up his life and made Mum run away. Eddie was stealing his Rachel, taking her away to pubs for drinks and leaving him alone, again.

What was so hard to understand about Rachel being his?

There were rose petals everywhere on that fateful day. The colour of blood, they rested on the table, on the floor, by the cupboards, on the stairs, leading all the way to –

Them. In bed. Together.

As far as he was concerned, it was an act of theft. Eddie had stolen his Rachel. Eddie owed him, and he intended to collect.

It was easy to locate the shining steel knife. It was easy to pick it up, to feel the power coursing through his body as he prowled up the stairs, creeping up on his unsuspecting target. It was made even easier by the fact that he could hear them, could hear their moans through the paper-thin walls.

Rachel was his. What was so hard to understand about that?

He had stood outside for a few moments, knowing that he was about to face two people who were bigger and stronger than he was, and that he only had moments to complete his plan and make Rachel his forever. He knew that she would understand. Sure, she would be angry at first, would probably be terrified too, but once he explained that she belonged to him, that she always had and always would do, that he loved her more than anything else and would keep her safe forever, she would understand.

She would have to.

He opened the door. They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn't notice him slink across to the bed. They didn't notice him brace the knife in his small fist. In fact, it wasn't until he had ripped the sheet back that they even acknowledged his presence.

Fear. Fear was the predominant emotion in their matching brown eyes.

Fear was the expression Eddie Lawson wore when he died.

Rachel screamed and screamed, crying hysterically and clutching the sheet to her as she tried to get to a phone. She wouldn't listen. Every time he tried to grab her wrist, tried to make her see his side, she fought him off, trying to get past him and to some help.

Why didn't she understand that he was her help?

He tried again, raising his voice until it was as loud as hers, but still it was no use. She wouldn't listen. He tried to hold her the way she had held him, tried to wipe away her tears as she had his, but she continued to fight him, clawing at him as she attempted to get away.

It wasn't until he pressed the knife to her neck in a threatening manner that she stopped fighting.

He told her everything, explained patiently that she was his and Eddie had stolen her. He told her so many times that he was sure that she had to understand, had to realise that he only spoke the truth.

But she wouldn't stop crying.

It infuriated him. Why wouldn't she see that he was doing his best to keep her safe? Why wouldn't she realise how much he loved her? And why did she refuse to acknowledge how horrid Eddie Lawson was?

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was caught off guard when she grabbed the knife and tried to wrestle it from him.

It was not his fault she was weaker than he was. It was not his fault when his hand slipped. It was not his fault that she got stabbed.

He held her close as the life sapped from her, whispering words of comfort and wiping away her tears just as she had his. And when she was gone, he gently closed her eyelids and covered her damaged body with the petals.

She was safe now. She was forever his.


End file.
